He Never Asked to be Made
by Prince Jacque
Summary: It's not Alfred's fault for what America has done.


**Warnings: suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt.**

* * *

Many words could describe how Alfred felt.

Devastated. Heartbroken. Disgusted.

But the one that described him the most was "defeated".

His country had decided that a violent-minded bigot was the person they wanted to be their leader. His country had decided that women, people of color, the disabled, and the LGBTQ+ community deserved to be left for dead.

Many people thought that as the embodiment of America, Alfred had absolute power, but he didn't. No nation did. Alfred was nothing but a father to his country. He could tell his people what to do and what would be best, but that didn't mean that they would always listen to him. More often than not, he found half of his country rebelling against what he wanted.

Alfred was born from a land of slavery and genocide. Nations feared him and saw him as nothing but tyrannical all because his people were selfish. That's why to this day, he always held a smile on his face. He always found joy in the smallest of luxuries such as fast food and comic books. That's why he vowed to become a hero. One day, he told himself, he would eradicate that hatred that birthed him. He would prove to the world that he wasn't a product of his origins. He could make a future for himself.

But there were many times when his smile wanted to falter. When Matthew once bragged about his free healthcare, Alfred had to bite his lip as he remembered his struggle to convince his own citizens to do the same and failed. Whenever Arthur joked that Alfred's lower intelligence was because of his poor educational system, Alfred would go along and jokingly berate his own lack of intellect. Whenever one of the nations would joke that Alfred's fear of Dora the Explorer was because of his citizens' history with illegal immigrants, he had to hold back tears.

By far, one of the hardest things Alfred had to do was fight his own people for equality. As a white man, himself, he was often faced with accusations of "turning against his own people" and even faced the threat of assassination, despite the possibility of what would become of the land if he were to die. Everyday, Alfred went home and fought. He fought racism, sexism, classism, homophobia, transphobia, and many other battles. He was tired. He was miserable, but every day he went to meet the other nations, he put on a smile because he wanted to keep his image of the hero.

That night, though, when HE won the exit polls, Alfred had lost the strength to hold that image.

Alfred knew that congress wouldn't let HIM actually go through with his chaotic plans. Alfred knew that Hillary had won the popular vote by over two-hundred thousand votes. Alfred knew that HE was only elected so that the Republican party could have their title back. Alfred knew that this wasn't the worst that had happened to his country.

It wasn't the future that hurt Alfred.

It was the gesture.

Just now, Alfred had watched half of his people happily give every minority the death sentence.

Alfred couldn't believe it. All his life, he worked hard to give everyone a chance. Eight years ago, he finally convinced his people to elect a black president. They had finally legalized gay marriage in all fifty states. Even their children's cartoons were starting to advocate diversity and acceptance. And he was so close, _so close_ to finally having the first female president.

All of his life's work had just been spat on by his own people, and right now, every other nation was laughing at his pain.

He could already imagine Arthur saying " _It's your own fault, moron_."

Tomorrow, Alfred would have to meet with HIM at the White House along with Obama. He would have to be professional and treat HIM fairly.

HIM: the man who embodied the very same hatred and violence that birthed Alfred.

The bespectacled blond fell to his knees in a sudden heap, sobs erupting from his throat "I never asked to be made…!" he cried out. He repeated this phrase throughout his crying like some insane mantra, but he couldn't help himself. Centuries of bottling up his frustration and insecurity with himself were finally taking its toll.

Hours passed like seconds as that nation lied in a crumpled mess on his floor. He had finally calmed down enough to breathe, but by this time, dangerous thoughts were pouring into his mind. Dangerous, vengeful thoughts.

He remembered the big carving knife in his kitchen, the many pills in his bathroom closet, and the liquor Ivan had left in the refrigerator.

" _If I die in pain, will the people feel it?_ " the blond wondered " _Those bigots…they would deserve every ounce of that pain!_ "

Alfred stood up and staggered towards the bedroom, his mind hazy in white hot anger.

He reached into his drawer where he knew he had a rope. It was thin, but he figured it could get the job done.

As usual, his drawer was cluttered, and many items fell out before he actually found the rope, one of them being a cardholder.

"Damn!" he swore as the hard object hit his bare foot and cracked open.

Frustrated, Alfred turned on the lamp and knelt down to rub his aching foot, but something stopped his motions entirely.

Sticking out of his cardholder as a card with a telephone number that he recognized. It was the suicide hotline number. He never thought he would need it, but he kept the card anyway.

He picked it up and stared at the numbers for a moment, his haze slowly clearing up.

"If I die, the people who worked with me to fight against bigotry…they'll be gone, too," Alfred blinked "And all the minorities who were victim to that bigotry…they would only suffer more."

Alfred reached for the telephone on his nightstand and dialed the number.

"Hello? This is Alfred F. Jones…the United States of America…"

* * *

 **As a queer black woman, this election has completely devastated me. Everyday, I face discrimination, but this was the first time in my life I had ever felt afraid because of the uprise of bigotry as a result of Donald's election. I've been threatened with being thrown into conversion therapy, called a porch monkey, and have been told to go back to Africa just within these few days. Like Alfred, I was ready to end my life, but also like Alfred, I chose to keep my head up high. Alfred may just be a fictional character, but he loves to be the hero and I see his optimism and spirit as inspiration. Please, if any of you are suffering as result of this election, call the suicide hotline in your area. There are also specific hotlines for transpeople, women, and LGBT people. Remember, it doesn't have to end like this.**


End file.
